The Sky is Empty The Doctor Blake Mysteries

Immorality in the life of a member of the Church

can tarnish the work of God.

A woman may be the model of a good wife and a good Christian.

But that counts for little, for she is an adulterer.

I say to her, as to you all...

INDISTINCT

..don't for a moment think that your sin is a private thing.

It is adultery and tarnishes the name of the Church and...

..destroys...our ministry in the...

..community.

Uh...it destroys our ministry in the community.

Either way, your infidelities need to be brought to the light.

This is what I warned you about.

And I have been given that responsibility.

You are not only breaking the commitment you made to each other,

but also the one you made to God.

CHURCH BELLS RING

Some supper.

Thank you, Evelyn.

The fire in your room has been lit. It's a cold night out.

Ah, yes.

PHONE RINGS

Hello?

There's no-one there, Cyril.

PHONE RINGS

Good evening. Father Morton.

You're aware of the hour?

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

It has been several months since my last confession.

Father?

Father Morton?

Father?

Oh! Oh...

CHURCH BELLS RING

WOMAN SOBS

It is with sadness that I can confirm

Father Cyril Morton has passed.

Aren't the police usually the ones

giving speeches under such circumstances?

It's important that we stay strong at this time

and know that everything happens for a reason.

We've lost a wonderful friend and an excellent priest.

This will be a great shock to the community.

This was an unfortunate act of nature.

Everyone will be informed in due course

and funeral arrangements organised

and details announced at a later time.

I'd say we're looking at a severe allergic reaction.

Now we need to find out who that last penitent was.

Well, we know that was Jean.

No, no, no, she was here this morning.

Morton's been dead since last night,

judging by the discolouration of the skin.

..until we make an official announcement later today.

We just have to accept that this was simply Father Morton's time.

What's strange is this late-night confession business.

HE SIGHS

Ah.

Didn't fancy church this morning?

I had other matters to deal with.

Pity, because things don't quite add up at Sacred Heart.

Hope you're taking notes on this, Davis.

Yes, sir.

You'll be handling this. I'm otherwise occupied.

Everything all right?

I'll let you know if it isn't.

So, what doesn't add up?

Well, the time frame.

This whole late-night penitent thing.

What do we know about Father Morton?

Nothing at all.

I mean, I haven't set foot in church since I arrived here,

except for today.

There's Morton's death certificate. You'd better get Blake to sign it.

Well, hang on a moment.

Thank you, Charlie.

I might need to perform an autopsy.

The Church doesn't want one, Blake.

And besides, they're expensive and, in this case, unnecessary.

Boss.

I'd like to speak to someone.

How can we help you, ma'am?

It's about Father Morton. I'm his housekeeper.

Was.

I'm the reason he died.

Right.

Cyril...Father Morton went to meet a penitent

at the church late last night.

And who was that penitent?

I don't know.

I overheard you saying that he died of an allergic reaction?

Yes, that's right.

I gave him some fruit on his way out.

It was new to the stores. I hadn't seen it before.

I knew he had an allergy.

I shouldn't have given it to him.

What kind of fruit was it?

I gave him a pear, which I knew he wasn't allergic to.

The other was a Chinese gooseberry.

I did this, didn't I?

Evelyn, fruit allergies

can bring about a severe reaction, certainly.

But having said that, so can a number of other things.

I imagine we'll do an autopsy, then.

Dr Blake, this is Mr Michaels.

He's a surgeon here at the hospital.

-Ah.

-Hello.

Dr Harvey's said only good things about you.

Really? Dr Harvey, you're too kind. It's a pleasure.

Mr Michaels diagnosed Father Morton

with a brain tumour several months ago.

He'd like to section the brain.

See exactly where the tumour is?

Yeah, when you're finished, I'll remove the brain

and encase it in formalin overnight to fix it.

-Then I'll section it.

-The Church has consented.

Right. Well, then, we'd best get started.

You mentioned a possible food allergy on the phone.

Yes, anaphylactic shock.

Morton's housekeeper is afraid he may have died from eating fruit.

A Chinese gooseberry.

Kiwi fruit. It's from New Zealand.

He could have easily been allergic and not known it.

If it is a food allergy,

we'll be looking for a pulmonary oedema in the lungs.

Yes, or cerebral oedema.

I'll start by making an incision into the thorax.

-Very good.

-Hey, wait a minute.

What are these?

Urticaria perhaps.

Hives caused by his allergies.

Yes.

Bear with me a moment.

I noticed something here. Look.

Look at that.

A bee stinger.

There's at least 20 stings here.

Do you happen to know if Morton was allergic to apitoxin?

I never operated on him. I'll have to check the file.

Because if he was allergic to bee stings,

there's no way he'd survive being stung this many times.

Perhaps we should check the upper airways.

Charlie.

I didn't realise you were Catholic.

Well, I'm not a very good one.

-You find anything?

-Oh, just more questions really.

If Morton was being stung by bees,

why didn't he simply flee the confessional booth?

As you know, the priest would take his seat on this side of the booth,

the penitent right next door.

Well, as far as I can remember.

Hm.

Doc, you got any ideas what's wrong with the boss?

Your guess is as good as mine, Charlie.

Yeah. Yeah, I reckon there's something he's not saying.

Well, not exactly transparent, our Matthew Lawson.

Come have a look at this, Charlie.

Father Morton's killers.

And the piece of glass?

Kept in a jar, perhaps?

Charlie, help me move this pew across to the door, would you?

Well, that scratch has definitely been made by this pew, I'd say.

And look at the height of it, Charlie.

All they'd need to do

is position the back of the pew under the door handle here.

I think the penitent waited in their side of the booth

until Father Morton was seated.

Then they opened the door to Morton and they threw the jar of bees in.

GLASS SHATTERS

Then they barricaded the door.

No! Agh!

BEES BUZZ

Help!

It would have been quite dark in here last night, wouldn't it?

Yes, perhaps only a few lights on. Why?

Well, someone was reading the Bible in candlelight,

maybe while Father Morton was fighting for his life.

Right.

Well, that's evidence, Charlie. We'll need to take it with us.

Whoever killed Father Morton,

they knew, they knew he was allergic to bee stings.

Charlie.

You have got to be joking.

Father Emery?

Yes?

You keep bees?

Yes, that's right.

You're the only one that handles them?

Yes. It's my apiary.

I set it up when I arrived around six months ago.

Right.

Were you aware Father Morton had a bee allergy?

Yes.

But Cyril never came near the apiary.

-That was a given.

-I see.

The autopsy revealed he died from bee stings.

Now you say you were aware of his allergy,

and yet you set up your apiary where he spent most of his time.

I spoke to Cyril about setting up the apiary and he was fine about it.

I'll talk to the Superintendent.

He'll most likely want you to come down to the station

to answer more questions.

I think you'll find he won't.

And why is that?

Because your Superintendent knows better

than to point the blame too soon.

Gentlemen.

MATTHEW: Thank you.

What does the boss say?

Stay away from the church.

Oh, come on!

Once we found out about the bee stings,

we had to revisit the crime scene.

-Yeah, he also said don't steal any more Bibles.

-Oh.

I suggested we bring in Emery for questioning.

-And?

-The Archbishop in Melbourne

apparently suggested that we didn't do that.

Oh, of course.

What about that mark on the floor, right by the confessional booth?

Lawson doesn't believe Emery would use his own bees

to kill a priest.

Really? Why is that? Because he's a man of the bloody cloth?

We know this is murder,

but we have to be damn sure before we accuse a priest.

Go and interview as many of the parishioners as possible.

And if you could avoid annoying too many people today,

-I'd appreciate it.

-Look...

-Blake!

Lucien.

I've been asked to sew the sacred linens for Father Morton's funeral.

Well, me and the rest of the sewing circle.

They'll be coming over this evening, if that's all right.

Yes, of course.

Father Morton baptised Jack and young Christopher.

I am sorry, Jean.

You'll find out who did this?

I promise you I'll do my best.

Evelyn Toohey must be beside herself with grief.

Yes.

Tell me about her.

Evelyn came to the church after her father was sent to prison for theft.

I think she really needed to believe in something after that,

which is when she found Father Morton.

I don't know who she'll turn to now.

Well, God I imagine.

Huh, I didn't think you were on his side.

No, but Evelyn is.

If I were you, I would speak with Evelyn again.

She was his housekeeper.

She probably knew him better than he knew himself.

Evelyn, this is very kind of you.

I really wasn't expecting lunch.

I'm just glad the food's not going to waste.

Bless us, oh, Lord, and these your gifts,

which we are about to receive from your bounty.

Through Christ our Lord, amen.

Amen.

I'm not sure who I'll cook for now.

Or even if Father Emery will keep me on.

I am just the housekeeper.

Father Morton left that night to meet with a penitent.

That's right.

To be honest, it's been a long time since I...

Anyhow, I can't imagine late-night confessions

would be standard practice.

I'd never known anyone to call that late.

And tell me, you worked for Father Morton for a long time?

Yes.

I never really understood the importance of religion

before meeting Cyril.

Sometimes it helps to put a face to it.

It sounds as though you were both very, very good friends, though.

We didn't always get along,

but I always tried to keep Cyril's good name intact.

Especially since his sermons had lost focus lately.

Recently, I'd overheard that Father Emery

wanted Cyril to retire from his position early.

And I can't say that he was altogether wrong in suggesting it.

Some parishioners even walked out of the last sermon.

Do you know who?

Ben and Celia Lloyd.

Right. Do you recall anything else?

I was waiting after the mass.

I always did, should Cyril need anything.

This time, Ben Lloyd was arguing with him.

I don't know what about, but it looked quite heated.

Right.

Evelyn, what was that last sermon about?

Adultery.

-WOMAN:

-'I'd left the stove on.'

And that's what you were discussing when you left the church?

I was worried we'd come home to find our house burnt to the ground.

And you had every right to be annoyed.

But I had no right to raise my voice.

Witnesses say they saw you talking to Father Morton after mass.

Not me.

They must have seen somebody else.

Tell you what, there's some lovely pictures here.

Thank you.

-Oh.

-Are you all right?

Yes, I'm fine.

You both attend Sacred Heart regularly?

-Every Sunday.

-Any other times?

Celia would see Father Morton on a regular basis.

Confessions, various church activities.

She even visited him in hospital once.

Really? And what was that for?

It was for a bee sting.

His doctor suggested some bed rest.

I took him a casserole.

Right.

Tell me, Father Morton's bee allergy,

was that common knowledge?

No. He kept it to himself.

It was just a small group of us from the sewing circle who visited him.

Evelyn, Dorothy, Jean and myself.

Right.

So the women from the sewing circle

all knew about Morton's allergy to bees.

As did Ben Lloyd, and Father Emery of course.

And Mrs Beazley.

Well, I think we can safely rule her out, Charlie.

We know they're just playing happy families in there.

What, because of that photo frame turned upside down?

Yes. I bet that photo was their wedding photo.

And what about that folded blanket on the couch?

Oh, because one of them slept there last night?

I'd say Ben.

But this business about the stove being left on -

no, no, no, no, no.

People spend nights on couches over much, much bigger issues.

What, money?

Or...infidelity.

The sermon they walked out of?

Precisely.

But is that enough of a motive for Ben to kill Father Morton?

Well...I'm not sure yet.

Either way, he wasn't particularly happy with Morton's last sermon.

-Mm. Oh, Doc.

-Yes?

Got it from the library.

Oh, Charlie, well done.

-Thank you.

-Mm.

Ladies, I have some news.

-I'm pregnant.

-Ohh!

Oh, Celia, congratulations.

-Ohh!

-That's wonderful news.

Thank you.

It's so unexpected.

Oh, you two must be very excited.

'Oh, yes.

'Oh, Ben will make a wonderful father.

'A first child.'

It's such an exciting time.

It is cause for celebration, you know.

Celia, what's wrong?

I'm not much in the mood.

It seems unfair considering Father Morton's passing, and poor Evelyn.

Is there something else?

The truth is, I haven't told Ben.

Ladies. I am sorry to interrupt.

I seem to have misplaced my newspaper.

I threw out this afternoon's newspaper.

-I see.

-As I do every evening.

Lucien, this is Dorothy Turner.

Ah! Dorothy, an absolute pleasure.

Lovely to see you here, Mrs Lloyd.

-Thank you.

-I trust you're feeling better.

Actually, Doctor, I'm expecting.

LUCIEN GASPS

Well, congratulations. How about that?

Wonderful news.

And I see the church linens are coming along beautifully.

We can thank Dorothy for being such a taskmaster.

We'll be lucky to get this made before the funeral.

Ah.

Well, in that case, I should leave you to it, eh?

Ladies.

See you next time.

It was so lovely to have you here.

-Thank you, Jean.

-Bye, Dorothy.

You take care of that step there.

-Celia.

-Jean.

Look after yourself.

I trust you got what you wanted?

Hmm?

Oh, the paper. I'll, um, well, I'll see tomorrow's edition.

I don't appreciate you treating my friends as suspects.

I imagine you can do as you like. You're not accountable to anybody.

I'm accountable to you, Jean.

I know you want me to find out what happened to Father Morton.

Unless of course you think God was responsible.

Well, he is, in some ways.

Well, I admire you, Jean.

Being able to forgive God so effortlessly.

What about your lovely friend Dorothy?

An injury of hers, it's permanent, is it?

Yes.

I wonder, has she forgiven God?

It's not God she needs to forgive. It's her late husband.

He was a horrible and violent man

and on one occasion, he shoved her down a flight of stairs.

She's always kept that to herself.

Goodness me.

Well, there you are.

Proof that man can generate evil all on his own.

What happened to the husband?

He died in a car accident soon after that.

-Mysterious ways.

-Mm.

There's something about Celia that I should tell you.

KNOCK AT DOOR

Hold that thought. I'll get it.

Drink?

Mad if we don't.

Come on through.

-Jean.

-Oh, Matthew, what a lovely surprise.

-Hope I'm not interrupting.

-No, never.

In fact, you're here just in time

to help settle a small debate on religion.

Now, do you think God or man is responsible for evil in the world?

Man.

Well, Lucien, that means you've turned your back on God

and Matthew's turned his back on man.

I'm not sure what's left to have faith in.

-Whiskey.

-Ha.

So, Matthew, what's your secret?

Sorry?

The secret to remaining detached

while at the same time being entirely consumed by the case.

Well, uh, don't be entirely consumed by work.

Doesn't always give back.

Ah, that's sound advice.

Well, speaking of being entirely consumed by work,

Jean, you were going to tell me something when Matthew arrived.

Oh.

Yes, Celia admitted to be being very upset with Father Morton.

Apparently she'd told him her sins in confession

and she's sure that he's referenced those confessions

in his last sermon.

Well, that's interesting.

Look, let's say...

that's Father Emery.

This is Father Morton.

And these are some of the congregation

who knew about Morton's bee allergy.

Now, there's Celia and Ben Lloyd.

Then we have Dorothy Turner.

Now, the Lloyds walked out during Morton's last sermon,

which focused on infidelity.

Now, Celia - she was the one who confessed regularly.

I suspect she told Father Morton,

he took that information and wove it into his sermon.

Now, let's not forget Dorothy Turner.

She has a secret of her own about how she came to be disabled.

And perhaps Morton was going to reveal her secret too.

The point is,

whoever killed Morton, I think had one hell of a secret to protect.

A secret worth killing for?

Makes you wonder, though, doesn't it?

What was Father Morton thinking,

betraying his parishioners like that?

That's if he was thinking.

Good God, Matthew, you're quite right.

Thank you. Ah.

DOOR OPENS

Sorry to keep you, Dr Blake.

No, not at all. Good to see you, Mr Michaels.

You mentioned on the phone

that you needed more detail on Morton's brain tumour.

Yes. I was curious as to the exact location of the tumour.

I was going through Morton's medical history and I found a name.

Thomas Blake.

Any relation?

Yes, my father.

-He was Morton's doctor for a while.

-Oh, I wasn't aware.

Morton's tumour was in the early stages

of infiltrating his frontal lobe.

Right.

Which means disinhibition was potentially a factor.

Going off on verbal tangents, making inappropriate comments,

poor impulse control.

Not the sort of problem a priest would want to have.

PHONE RINGS Excuse me.

Certainly.

Yes.

It's for you.

Thank you.

Blake.

Just calm down!

Go on! Get out of me bloody house!

Bloody settle down!

Hey, hey. Calm down, mate.

Get over here!

-Get away from me!

-It's over!

-Under control, Charlie?

-Yeah, she's in the bedroom, Doc.

Celia?

It's got nothing to do with you!

Oh, Celia.

Are you all right?

-SOBBING:

-My stomach!

She got what she deserved.

Let's pop you up on the bed.

Pop you up here.

Let me see that tummy of yours.

Oh, for God's sake.

All right, I'm here. I'm here, all right?

Do you think you can walk with me?

-Yes.

-Yes?

Good girl. That's it. Come on.

I was in the area. I got the call.

As soon as I heard the address, I got the station to call you.

Good man.

Well, it looks like Celia got a couple of decent shots in as well.

That was me.

Right.

Well...

..Ben was clearly very focused on what it was he set out to do.

What? Beat his wife to a pulp?

No. He was aiming fairly and squarely for her abdomen.

He didn't set out to hurt her as such.

He wanted to kill the baby.

Celia was having an affair. She told Morton.

Morton revealed her secret

and then, then she announced she was pregnant.

It seems like a good enough reason to want to kill Morton.

And Ben knew of Morton's bee allergy.

Celia.

-We'll come back tomorrow.

-Yes.

I'm glad Celia and the baby are all right.

-Horrible business.

-It is indeed.

Jean, I wanted to give you these.

I know your Dr Blake is looking into Cyril's passing.

They're complaint letters from Father Emery to the Archbishop.

I overheard Father Emery talking to Cyril,

saying he was going to complain.

Father Emery gave me the letters to post,

but I just couldn't, knowing what was in them.

Now I think they might actually help the police.

I'll make sure the Doctor receives them.

So Father Emery wanted Morton removed from the parish?

Well, that's if Evelyn's telling the truth.

Yeah.

I did a background check on her.

Confirms what we know -

that her father went to prison for theft.

He stole a substantial amount of money and a porcelain doll.

A porcelain doll, Charlie.

Not something you'd imagine a grown man

would be particularly interested in.

Perhaps Evelyn stole the doll and she let her father take the fall.

And if she lied about that,

she could well have been involved in Morton's death.

But she came into the station and confessed to killing him.

I mean, she wouldn't do that if she was innocent.

Charlie, confessing, that's a wonderful alibi.

She might have written these very letters.

Maybe we should steam them open.

That's the Queen's mail, Blake, and we don't have a warrant.

I suggest you delve deeper into Ben Lloyd's past.

Yes, sir.

Lawson, what's going on?

Nothing.

I just want to make sure that Father Emery's accorded due process.

-But those letters...

-Due process!

If you go off on one of your tangents,

the Archbishop will be all over us.

Well, what if Charlie and I just had a friendly chat with Emery

-and not mention the letters?

-Feel free.

Matthew, if you don't mind me saying...

you've spent an awful lot of time on the phone today.

I'm just asking, is everything all right?

HE SNIFFLES

It's not your problem.

I had noticed that Father Morton was struggling with his sermons.

Yes.

It's been reported that confessional secrets

were revealed during those sermons.

You don't seem surprised, Father.

I had my suspicions.

Canon law prevents a priest from betraying the penitent in any way.

Yes, of course.

You wanted to report it?

Yes, I wrote letters to the Archbishop in Melbourne,

but I never received a response.

Apart from those sermons,

did you feel overall that he wasn't performing his duties as a priest?

Latin is not a language people understand anymore.

Heh. And I'm guessing the Archbishop remained silent?

Yes.

So I kept an eye on the Father.

I expected that at some point he would retire.

And you would have been next in line to take over.

As the only other priest here, yes.

That would have been a step up for you, wouldn't it?

I'm only human.

But my concern was for the Church.

I was trying to deal with the matter

in a way that did not damage anyone's reputation.

Did Morton ever complain about you?

I'm sure he did.

I'm sure he felt that my approach was perhaps too modern.

So you didn't always see eye to eye?

We can still love our neighbours, even when we disagree with them.

I can get angry at God sometimes,

but it doesn't mean that I'll walk out on him.

Do you have any idea why someone would want to kill Father Morton?

No.

Murder is a mortal sin.

And my poor Ligurian bees just make honey.

They don't kill people.

Ligurian bees?

Yes, that's right.

Apis mellifera syriaca.

The bees we found are Cyprian.

Emery's bees, Ligurian.

Right.

Well, I'll try to find out who keeps Cyprian bees in town.

In the meantime, listen to this.

That passage in the Bible, the page with the candle wax on it?

It's Romans 7:7.

"God forbid. Nay, I had not known sin but by the law -

"for I had not known lust,

"except the law had said, 'Thou shalt not covet.'"

Covet, Charlie.

Covet.

Father Emery wanted Father Morton's job.

Exactly.

Are these all of them?

All except for one.

Father Emery's got Morton's last sermon.

He wants to read it at the funeral as a tribute, I gather.

Well, this one,

he seems to be addressing certain members of the congregation.

Listen. "This Sunday's gospel presents us with a parable

"that, in certain respects, has important contemporary relevance.

"The parable of the dishonest housewife."

He goes on and on and on.

Doesn't name names.

-Well, that could be any housewife.

-True.

Listen to this one.

"The Corrupt Means of Getting Gain.

"This is by taking that which does not belong to us as our own,

"also known as stealing." It goes on.

"God has condemned this practice

"and has declared that his children should leave it behind

"with the other works of the flesh."

Ephesians 4:28.

I think you made a mistake going into medicine, Doctor.

Mm, I can see it too.

The voice. The delivery.

Well, thank you so much, Mattie.

But the delivery wasn't the point.

What is the point?

I need to know if this sermon, or any sermon of Father Morton's,

relates to one of our suspects.

Oh, not that I can tell.

But these don't appear to be only sermons,

but notes that he's taken on individual people.

Yes.

I mean, here for example.

I'm sure this says "housekeeper."

The housekeeper was diabetic.

Evelyn Toohey's diabetic. I've treated her at the hospital.

Right.

And look, it says here,

"The housekeeper committed theft, stole a porcelain doll,

"her father took the blame."

That sounds like Evelyn. She collects porcelain dolls.

So it's fair to say, then,

that she may have confessed that to Father Morton.

Now the sermons themselves,

the way they're worded, I recall one about coveting.

-Here it is.

-Ah.

He gave that sermon about four weeks ago.

And that's the one about adultery.

Right. Which was last week's sermon.

And the sermon that was to be given next week was...

-The Sanctity of Life.

-Thank you.

So that's three of the Ten Commandments.

Yes.

Thou shall not commit adultery, thou shall not covet thy neighbour.

And the Sanctity of Life could also be translated

as one of the other commandments - thou shall not kill.

Yes, of course.

Thou shall not kill.

Right. Look at this.

Father Emery coveted Morton's job, yes?

The Lloyds, well, Celia - adultery.

Evelyn Toohey, a thief.

Whoever killed Morton

must have known he was working his way through the commandments.

And when Morton posted the topic of what was to be that next sermon,

the killer knew that he or she was next in line to be exposed.

And here's the thing.

That very sermon is about to be read out at Morton's funeral.

So Father Emery could be...

Next.

So all of his sermons were based on the Ten Commandments?

The most recent ones were.

So based on our theory, if killing was the topic of the sermon,

whoever killed Morton must have killed before.

Because they confessed their first crime with Father Morton?

Yes. They had to stop him before he gave that sermon.

Oh, I did a background check on our suspects.

No, there's nothing on any of them.

Really? Nothing?

Well, there is one thing.

Uh, Dorothy Turner's husband, John.

He didn't die from the accident.

He died a few days later, from surgery.

Heart complications from the accident.

Right.

Oh, and here's that list that you wanted

with all the apiaries in the area.

There's only one beekeeper with those Cyprian bees.

We need to find Emery.

He'll be getting ready to deliver that final sermon of Morton's.

Whoever killed Morton

could potentially target Emery at any point prior to the funeral.

And quite frankly, we could use his help with this list of bees.

Dr Blake. What can I do for you?

Hello, Father.

Just a few more questions, really.

Um...some weeks ago, Father Morton spoke about coveting in a sermon,

and I wondered, did he make specific reference to you?

Because he thought that I wanted his parish?

Yes.

Do you know "Thou shall not covet" is about the only commandment

which focuses on one's intention and not on one's action?

I may have wanted Father Morton's position, his parish,

but all I did was write letters to Melbourne.

We found this, open, over by the confessional booth.

I think someone wanted to make it look like you killed Father Morton.

They'd been reading a passage about coveting.

For someone who is not a member of the congregation,

you certainly seem to have studied your Bible.

I have the address of a beekeeper who breeds Cyprian bees.

The same variety of bee we found in the confessional booth.

I was hoping you might help me.

The Church does not want to have anything

-to do with this investigation.

-Ah.

But...

I need to know what happened to Father Morton as much as you do.

Thank you.

And Dr Blake...

..don't let God go

because you couldn't hear him when you needed to.

Don't let hurt decide your faith.

So the owner's been away for the last week?

Yeah, yeah, we've spoken to the neighbours.

I guess we're hoping to find anything

that looks... well, out of the ordinary.

-I'll point out anything that I see.

-Thank you.

BEES BUZZ?

Cyprian bees.

Ah.

There's a lot of activity here but nothing unusual.

What does that thing do?

Smoke. Keeps the bees calm.

But we will need to stay relatively still and quiet.

No sudden movements.

Goodness.

It's fine, keep still. That's what the nets are for.

Yes, of course.

Now, this lid has not been replaced properly.

It's definitely been tampered with.

Yes, you see, this hive is dilapidating.

That crowding is not usual in a healthy, concealed hive.

Right.

Charlie?

No fingerprints but there are finger impressions.

I'd say they were wearing gloves.

I'll take your word for it, Doc.

Ah.

Cigar ash.

Cigar ash, you say?

It's been used by an amateur to calm the bees down.

Yes.

Charlie?

I think we have our killer.

There we are, Charlie.

I'll tell you, Lawson was right about staying away from the church.

I didn't realise we had an appointment, gentlemen.

Ah, Mr Michaels.

Don't suppose you happen to have a cigar on you?

I have a long line of patients waiting outside.

Surely you understand that?

Or perhaps you're not in great demand as a doctor?

I'm told any amateur going near an apiary,

having done their research of course,

will know that cigar smoke calms bees down.

-Bees?

-Yes, bees.

The ones you took from that apiary just outside town.

The same ones you held in a glass jar

and smashed into the confessional booth, killing Father Morton.

Two years ago, Dorothy Turner was referred to you with a brain injury,

an injury she sustained

after being severely beaten by her husband, John.

Now, three months later, he was involved in a car accident.

According to hospital records,

you were the surgeon who operated on him.

There's beeswax and resin on these gloves, Doctor.

And imprints on the lid of the hive

which will no doubt match your driving gloves.

Put yourself in my shoes.

I operated on Dorothy Turner multiple times

to repair the damage inflicted on her by that monster.

Yes, I understand he pushed her down the stairs.

No, no, no. First he beat her, then he pushed her down the stairs.

Then he stomped on her head,

and then he butted out his cigarette on her arm.

That was the last of a long line of injuries.

So you let him die on the table,

and then you confessed all to Father Morton?

That is one hell of a secret, isn't it?

When did you realise you were in danger of being exposed?

I am a doctor.

I noticed his symptoms a year ago.

But when he started breaking the secrets of the confessional,

I knew I had to act.

Thou shalt not kill.

Clearly, you didn't consider the irony.

Morton was ageing.

He was going to die of that brain tumour within a few months anyway.

Oh, I see.

So you just helped things along. Is that it?

Mysterious ways, Doctor.

I am simply God's servant.

Mr David Michaels, I need you to accompany me down to the station,

where you'll be formally charged

with the murder of Father Cyril Morton.

Lawson.

I think you'd be very proud of your Senior Constable.

Couldn't have found Michaels without him.

Matthew.

What's going on?

I've been summoned to Melbourne on disciplinary charges.

I'll be facing a Special Branch Committee set up for such matters.

Apparently, they've been keeping an eye on me for some time.

Boss, I haven't been...

I said "they", not "you".

An interim station boss will be appointed in my absence.

Until then, Davis, you're the senior officer.

Well done today.

Thank you, sir.

Yeah, hang on a minute.

Disciplinary charges?

Oh, it's shorthand for police politics.

I've become inconvenient.

Well, I'll drive you to the station.

It's all right. I've organised an officer to take me.

Oh, I see.

Well, I trust you'll call from Melbourne?

Let us know when you'll be back.

Exceptional work, Lucien.

You too, Matthew.

Good morning.

You're up early.

Yes, I thought I might take a walk.

You know it's still dark out there.

Oh, best time of the day.

No-one else around.

Are you worried about Matthew?

Yes. Yes, I am.

I'll get you some breakfast.

Oh, I might walk first, if that's all right.

Um, you know, Evelyn was telling me

she and Father Morton didn't always get along.

But it didn't stop them from being great friends.

Ah, that's true.

You know, I was reading his final sermon.

He was talking about the sanctity of life,

how that translates as "live and let live".

Mm.

We must respect the differing opinion of one another.

Yes.

It's the differences that make us interesting.

Yes, I know.

It's been a long time since I was last here.

A funeral, in case you've forgotten.

It's all right.

I didn't come expecting an answer this time.

Though I imagine Father Morton did.

Did he know he was losing his mind?

Did he kneel right here and ask you for your help?

I'm sure he did.

And what did you give him?

A sign?

Or nothing?

All these children, your children, begging you for help.

What father ignores his children?

You know I can't.

I can't.